Mr Big
by SilentG
Summary: Alex Eames hasn't even figured out this New Bobby and he's already rushing off to Arizona to help Carolyn Barek of all people. So what does a clever detective do to get her partner back faster when he's off solving a case without her? B/A casefile S10 compliant. C7: It gets REAL in the final meeting with the mark, and Bobby finally thinks he knows what he wants & how to get it.
1. THE OLD BOBBY

**Author:** SilentG  
**Title:** Mr. Big  
**Fandom:** LO:CI  
**Pairing:** B/A  
**Rating:** T for now  
**Spoilers:** Nope  
**Archive:** Anywhere – no need to ask – just attribute, and let me know if possible  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Summary:** Alex Eames hasn't even figured out this New Bobby and he's already rushing off to Arizona to help Carolyn Barek of all people. So what does a clever detective do to get her partner back faster when he's off solving a case without her? B/A casefile S10 compliant. Despite the title, there is NO Logan in this fic. :) 

**A/N 1:** Like Hazel-Rah, I have two clever rabbits who make everything better. Thank-you to Weathergirl and Metisse – two accomplished writers with lots on the go – who were kind enough to take time out of their busy lives to preview this fic with a gimlet eye.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER ONE: THE OLD BOBBY**

"Detective Goren, could you join us please?"

Alex got a funny sick feeling as she watched her partner jump out of his chair and dash to the Captain's half-open door. Ensconced within and sequestered with the Captain since before she and Bobby arrived that morning was – from what Alex could see of the back of her head – a petite, lively female. Alex's attention was self-consciously riveted on her partner's fit, trim, sharply-dressed form as he disappeared into the room.

She spent the next forty-five minutes shuffling papers and scribbling nonsense, keeping up the pretense that she was getting something done. The person in the Captain's office was probably some citizen making a complaint, or maybe a Captain checking a reference Bobby had given for a fellow detective. It wasn't Bobby's new boss, it wasn't his new partner. He wasn't going to leave again, he wasn't going to replace her.

It wasn't someone he was interested in. Sleeping with. Going to sleep with.

Not that it was any of her business, what Bobby did with women. His recently-regained zest for life, his machismo, his sexuality, were all things she was accustomed to viewing with disinterest, unless they were useful for a case. Or put him in danger. So that was what she was doing, regarding with disinterest. And the squirmy feeling in her chest, the ugly squint she couldn't wipe off her face, were due to something else entirely.

She had just come to the helpful conclusion that her unease was simply due to the newness of their return – perhaps a delayed, sublimated traumatic reaction to the events that surrounded their abrupt departure two years ago – when she heard another summons…

"Detective Eames? In my office please."

**O.O.O.O.O**

For not the first time, Captain Hannah wondered if there was something going on with his two best detectives that went beyond the job, beyond their already well-documented attachment.

He'd spent close to an hour with the FBI agent, getting crystal clear on the particulars of her request. After hearing her out, it was obvious to him why she was asking for Bobby, but although there was little risk in the assignment, he couldn't help but feel reluctant to grant her request.

When he'd called Bobby in, the big detective had been shocked but apparently ecstatic to be introduced to the agent. With little prompting, Hannah found them deep in conversation, reminiscing, catching up, the tiny brunette almost visibly melting from the warmth in Detective Goren's eyes.

But when Detective Eames joined them, the tableau changed.

"Detective Eames, I believe you know Agent Carolyn Barek, of the FBI?"

"Alex," the agent exclaimed immediately, forestalling any assumed formality.

"Carolyn," Detective Eames replied, the slight catch in her voice drawing Bobby's attention. The second half of Hannah's best team greeted her former colleague cordially, but when Hannah invited her to sit, her movements were stiff and now she was staring stoically and unwaveringly at her Captain, a twinge of defeat in the curve of her mouth.

Which was probative, but not conclusive.

More interesting was the change in Bobby. From the moment his partner entered the room, he hadn't taken his eyes off her. His whole body, which had hunched and curved towards Agent Barek, seemed to stretch and spread in the presence of Alex Eames. Hannah watched fascinated as Bobby turned towards his partner, adjusting his trousers, tilting his chin up, puffed his chest out a little and sucked in his gut. He draped his forearm across the back of her chair. All the while staring at her as though she was the only person in the room.

Agent Barek seemed to have noticed as well. She tried to regain the attention of the big detective with touches, and finally he turned back to her. Detective Eames blinked, hard and rapidly.

For – again – not the first time, Captain Hannah decided that whatever it was between them, he didn't want to know… as long as it didn't interfere with their work. He speculated if it would be possible to rescind the offer to loan Detective Goren to the FBI.

"Eames?" Detective Goren pulled away from Barek again and turned in his seat to almost fully face his partner. "Carolyn, um, asked if I could be spared for a week or so to help the FBI with a sting."

Whether it was recalling her partner's previous stint undercover without her, or the prospect of him keeping company with Carolyn this time, a legion of repressive expressions – reluctance, fear, disapproval – marched across Detective Eames's face.

"Is it going to be dangerous?" She croaked.

"Captain," Agent Barek interjected, "Perhaps you could fill in Detective Eames? I have some things to discuss with Detective Goren."

Hannah nodded, watching Detective Eames swallow. Goren touched his partner briefly between her shoulderblades, just below the fall of her hair, as he stood.

**O.O.O.O.O**

_Will bring you coffee._

Alex pointedly ignored the yawing feeling of instability, like an undermined house of cards about to come down.

She hadn't really expected them to be there when she emerged from the Captain's office. After a detailed explanation, her barrage of questions and his reassurances, she felt less terrible about the assignment that was taking her partner away.

"A 'Mr Big' sting," her captain had said. "In Arizona. Someone in the breakaway Mormon community."

"_Arizona? What – is that where Agent Barek's working out of right now?"_

_Her captain had shaken his head. "Nope, this is a cold case. Apparently something to do with the Federal Prosecutors, trying to stir up leverage. The guy's a lynchpin of some kind."_

"In the FLDS? Oooooh." The pieces began to fall into place for Alex.

Bobby would be in little to no danger. And it would be quick, and most importantly, right up his alley.

The Mr. Big sting was a time-consuming, expensive, but very successful way to gain traction in cold cases. Bobby would play Mr. Big, the top guy who'd parachute in to invite the target, who'd been groomed with small confidences and little jobs, to join the top ranks of his organization. For a price.

Honesty.

The perp would have to disclose and describe his worst actions.

And it would all be on tape, of course. Audio and video.

The perps in these cases were typically unoriginal cowards, unlikely to pose a danger to the team.

There were serious restrictions on the operations due to constitutional issues… Alex assumed the feds were all over that.

Alex fingered the conciliatory note, at once a bribe, reassurance, and show of solidarity. This small courtesy was new, and thawed a corner of her fear-frozen heart. But disappearing to pursue an angle without her? That was classic. The old Bobby was back.

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** I know. What Happens in Vegas. Brownied Girl.

I invite you to chew me out thoroughly in your review. :D

WORDS: 1295 UPLOADED Wednesday, September 18, 2013


	2. RIGHT?

**A/N 1:** You guys! Thanks for all the kind words. But where were the flames? I had my asbestos suit on, waiting to get blasted for my other WIPs. Not too late to let 'er rip!

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER TWO: RIGHT?**

The duo eventually returned, with the promised coffee. Alex watched Bobby with Carolyn – as she had done many times when Carolyn had been their colleague – and her partner's squared shoulders and confident gait took on a new significance for her, with the supple FBI agent in her smart pantsuit elbow-to-elbow striding next to him.

Alex wanted to grab Bobby by the sleeve of his Armani jacket and drag him to a quiet corner, but she sat unmoving as he deposited the beverage and a date square in front of her with a flourish.

Carolyn put her hand on Alex's shoulder. Five years ago, she'd been so angry at the brunette for leaving so abruptly, without a word, because of how it had hurt Bobby. Hurt him after Alex herself had hurt him so badly with the Garrett trial. Alex knew that he'd found comfort with Carolyn back then… perhaps he'd done so even before her forced confession of disloyalty. Now she felt… irrationally conflicted about the return of their former colleague.

A relationship that was none of her business from a time when they had all been different people.

Right?

Because… they had the three of them shared many happy times as colleagues, but she was afraid Bobby might get hurt again.

Right?

Because… Carolyn had been good for her partner when things had been going well, but Bobby was just recently back, still in therapy and…

Right?

Because… she wasn't ready to stop basking in the glow of Bobby's effervescent excitement at being back at work with her. Which was, as a MO or an excuse, neither proper nor healthy nor right.

Right?

"It's great to see the 11th floor again, especially with the two of you back at your post. I'd love to catch up, perhaps when Bobby and I get back?" Alex murmured something, then Carolyn continued. "Shall we?" She made a move to pick up the foolscap pad Bobby had deposited on his desk, covered with pages and pages of notes.

"Ummm…" Bobby smoothly retrieved his note pad from the agent's hands, plunking himself down in his chair. "I uh, actually have some things to clear up here, we can, uh, meet at the airport?" He waved in the general direction of the pile of papers strewn across their shared desks.

Agent Barek balked, seemed a bit nonplussed by his resistance. Alex however felt a glimmer of optimism, although she refused to admit to herself _why._

"The plane departs at five, and we still have a lot of ground to cover," Carolyn said tightly.

"Well it's uh," Bobby glanced up at the nearest wall clock, "11:45 now… I'll be there, I promise. Four OK?" He smiled sweetly at her, then turned his head so Alex caught the tail end of his effulgent warmth. His last words, ostensibly a reply to the FBI agent, were spoken entirely to her. "I'm still on Eames's dance card until then."

Carolyn turned and left without another word, and Alex focused all her attention on dismantling her date square, trying to hide the blush that her partner's words had evoked. Why would he say something like that? He never used to. Funny thing was, if it was 5 years ago when Carolyn was working with them, Alex would have just rolled her eyes and shrugged it off. Now, despite what she knew to be Bobby's feelings for her (deep platonic admiration, mild co-dependence, brotherly love), his comments left her flustered and off-balance.

It's like he was making a pass at her. _At work._

But her Bobby would never do that.

Right?

**O.O.O.O.O**

"So, you and Eames, huh?"

Bobby's gaze jerked to his row-mate, his stomach lurching at the bald statement. "Um, wh…"

"Back together again like nothing's changed."

_Oh_. He expelled the breath he'd been holding. "Well, Captain Ross is dead, Logan quit, that's changed." A lot of other things had changed too, but he was _not_ going to be discussing them with Carolyn Barek.

"Of course, Bobby," Carolyn said sympathetically. "I wanted to make it to Ross's funeral. How was it?"

Bobby didn't really want to discuss that either.

He'd hung around 1PP so he could talk to Eames alone, but she'd been distracted and distant. He felt like they were talking to cross purposes… he kept trying to tell her he'd be safe and he was sorry to be leaving her with their open cases and he wasn't abandoning her, and she kept saying that it was OK, it was a good idea he was going and he could help Carolyn a lot.

What did it mean?

Eventually it was time for him to go, and he felt like hadn't managed to say what he'd really wanted to say. Then he had stuff to pack, errands to run, phone calls to make, and then a plane to catch.

And at some point before that plane landed, he'd have to convince his handler that he was ready for his assignment.

And he'd have to answer her question about Ross.

What he wanted to do was think about Eames.

_Eames_, not _Alex._

Alex was who he thought about before he fell asleep, and for hours after his therapy sessions. _Alex_ was soft, and the corners of her mouth curled up, never down. She laughed and her husky voice made him hard, and she didn't give a fuck what anyone thought. She didn't stay because of loyalty or friendship. _Alex_ was the woman he recently discovered he wanted, the one he loved.

_Eames_ was the woman he worked with, who he also loved. And right now he was wondering, why she'd acted so strangely today.

The answer was a voice that reminded him of him, mumbling just out of hearing range. If he could only trust himself more, perhaps he'd be able to hear.

"Are we OK?"

The words dragged him unwillingly out of his head, he felt stupid and groggy. "Wha– I…"

At that second, beholding Carolyn's pensive face, he realized that he had thought about Eames, about Alex, about their open cases and about this assignment, but he hadn't thought about Carolyn at all. How she might be feeling weird about this. They hadn't spoken since she left, half a decade ago.

"Yeah, of course." He quickly loaded the program that helped him put people at ease, and behaved accordingly.

"That's good. Because…" He really didn't want to hear this, whatever it was. "…for a long time after I left, I was angry at you, as irrational as that sounds. But I owe you an apology, and I'm really glad we're OK."

"Hey," he chuckled, "As a chronic disappearer, I can't really hold it against you. And I – well I forgave you a long time ago. If, um, I mean actually there was really nothing to forgive."

A few minutes later she spoke up again. "Bobby, do you think…"

He looked at her face and what he saw made him want to run.

"No," he said firmly, and returned to his notes.

"Why am I not surprised," she muttered, but he didn't even hear. In his mind he was sitting next to the woman whose lips curled up, never down.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Detective Eames? FBI Tech Coffey here, Detective Goren asked me to call you to set something up. Is now a good time?"

It was 11:30 in the morning, two days after Bobby left. She'd gone home the night of his departure feeling glum and irritable, her stomach knotting weirdly over the thought of Bobby and Carolyn, heads together regarding a case.

There had been a large, padded manila envelope on the floor just inside her door… her name scrawled in big Bobby letters across the front.

Inside she'd found a cell phone, about a dozen photocopied pages from his pad, and a note.

The note said he wouldn't be in deep, and to expect a call. The words made her wrists twitch with energy.

He asked her to read the notes he'd taken, and he'd try to get her the casefile.

She recalled with no shame holding the package to her chest as though it were something precious. It _was_… it was her connection to him both personally and professionally, a combination she'd grown accustomed to the past few months and had fretted about losing.

"Yes Agent Coffey, now is a good time. What do you need?"

"Well I've got a couple of questions. Firstly, do you ever take your work laptop home with you?"

_**Thank you so much for reading! Please, please review! I treasure every word, you can't say anything wrong.**_

~.~.~.~.~

WORDS: 1482 UPLOADED Tuesday, September 24, 2013


	3. COLORADO CITY

**A/N 1:** TYVM for all the feedback. This is a short chapter, but the next one will be longer.

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER THREE: COLORADO CITY**

"Eames."

"Hello, Eames."

It was Bobby, calling her on the burner phone just as she finished watching the first round of the Mr. Big sting video.

According to the casefile that Agent Coffey sent her, twenty-one years ago, Leroy Dutson had been a young teenager in the FLDS breakaway Mormon community in Colorado City. With no useful family connections and apparently little respect for authority, he had no hope of escaping the fate of becoming a Lost Boy – the moniker given to the swaths of young men who were excommunicated for no good reason other than that the community, with its emphasis on plural marriage, couldn't support a gender-equal population.

_In other words_, Alex thought to herself as she read, _the power-hungry horndogs who got off on exploiting multiple 'wives' didn't want the competition._

Underage, uneducated and with no skills outside simple construction, Dutson eked out what could barely be called a living doing odd jobs and sleeping rough. Then, when he was sixteen, the Bishop's first wife and her three oldest daughters were found dead… beaten, their arms and legs broken, left to die of exposure in the unwelcoming scrub outside town. A horrible crime that shook the insular religious community as well as Colorado City proper, local officials always suspected the troubled young man had killed them to punish the man who had expelled him, but after a grueling investigation the case had gone cold.

In the ensuing years, Leroy Dutson had not distinguished himself in any way. Drifting between little towns in California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona, he built up a substantial sheet for petty crimes, as well as evidence of a problem with alcohol and crack cocaine.

Now, with a special Federal Prosecutor investigating a range of remedies for what was deemed to be an intolerable clash of religious freedom and exploitation in the community, the spotlight had shone on the crime once again and the FBI had been brought in to try to finally make the case.

"Bobby!" Alex rolled her eyes at herself both for her formal phone-answering mojo with a cell that only one person knew she had, and for the way she fairly gushed his name.

"Hey…"

She waited a few seconds for him to continue, but when nothing was forthcoming, she forged ahead. "I just finished watching the video. Very impressive, Mr. Big."

He laughed. "Yeah well thanks. Um, I'm not used to running an operation with an ear piece, that's gonna take a bit of getting used to."

"Yeah, I think I could tell when you heard something you didn't like. You should work on that."

He laughed again, and she was absurdly happy to hear it. "Oh no, really? What did I do?"

She queued up the video and with great relish described the combination of tics that she was sure succeeded an unwelcome comment. She then held her breath as he did the same, almost giggling at the bearish expulsion of air that she knew signaled concession. "The one-eyed squint is fine, but then you unfocus your eyes and look like you're almost but not quite shaking your head, that could bite you eventually."

"Hmmm… thanks Alex, that's really helpful. I dunno how Carolyn missed it."

Hearing her own name in his sweet voice made her feel warm, but mention of Carolyn reminded her why they were speaking in the first place. Her Bobby wouldn't call for no reason.

"So, Bobby. Good job gaining his confidence. It was spot on, perfect even."

"Well, the team did a great job of groom, uh, grooming him. They've been doing the real work, months of it."

The word didn't feel right to her, and she knew Bobby felt the same, from the way he'd stumbled over it. In their world, good people didn't 'groom', and real perps didn't need grooming. She decided to prod a little. After all, he really didn't need her help with this operation, but he must have chosen to include her for a purpose. And prodding was what she did.

"So those murders. He's not exactly a prince among men, huh? Revenge motive?"

"It was a brutal crime."

"And a young man like that, raised so sheltered, then thrown to the wolves… You and I have seen people like that break before, in similar ways."

"Yeah…"

"Four bodies, and no evidence at all to connect him to the crime?"

"Nope, not a shred. Getting a confession is the only hope for ever closing the book."

"Well, that's what you do."

"Yup."

"And… that man, streetwise but not sophisticated. Carolyn, the FBI, the local police, they're all convinced he did it."

He grunted.

"Are you?" She already knew the answer… she'd seen it from the footage. Carolyn must be shitting bricks right now, unless she'd turned into a numbskull in the past 5 years.

Another sigh. Then, she heard a phone ringing at his end. "Hang on a sec, Eames. _Goren. Yeah, hi. Um… sure, can I call you back in a few minutes? Nothing, just, uh… Yeah thanks, Carolyn. _Listen Eames I gotta go, thanks for, um… can I call you tomorrow same time?"

"No, uh, I'm going out after work actually." A lie. "Call me later on in the weekend."

"Okaaay… you'll be around Saturday morning?"

"Probably."

He sighed again.

"Well," she said briskly, "I have a couple of ideas I can look into here. If you like?"

"I would like, Eames. As long as it doesn't cramp your style?"

_**Pretty please review? Reviews are like sugar to me!**_

~.~.~.~.~

**A/N 2:** Hmmmmm… doncha wonder what Bobby did in that interview? Next chapter. And what's Eames gonna do?

WORDS: 973 UPLOADED Tuesday, October 1, 2013


	4. GO FIGGER

**A/N 1:** A nice long chapter to make up for the short one. There's still a lot to come!

~.~.~.~.~

**CHAPTER FOUR: GO FIGGER**

In the end he never did connect with Eames until Saturday night. He sent her a text early that morning feeling crabby, but she didn't respond. Friday night had seen another meeting with the target, and after texting Eames he spent the rest of the day debriefing.

To maintain the pristine security of the op, all three of the locations he frequented were kept strictly separate.

The luxury hotel room where the meetings took place was for showtime only. Bobby was booked – as Mr. Big but under a different name than his character – at a different luxury hotel, which was strictly under cover. For meetings with his colleagues on the task force, he went to the office above an FBI-run massage parlor across town.

His 'boys' in their undercover personae were booked in adjoining suites to 'Mr. Big', and the other agents and law enforcement were put up in yet another hotel.

After a grueling day with the team in the cramped, soundproofed office in a seedy part of downtown, he was back in his room with a sandwich and coffee, freshly showered, reviewing his files and toying with his phone thinking of Eames. The team had been in the habit of leaving him scrupulously alone during his off-time, so he was surprised to hear a knock from the door to Agent Frank Sorace's adjoining room.

"Bobby?"

For one second, seeing the petite figure in shadow as he opened the door, he thought it was Eames. Of course it wouldn't be Eames. She had better things to do than drop everything to come visit him.

"Oh hi um, Carolyn." He stepped back and gestured for her to enter. _Risky_, he fleetingly thought as he cleared a chair of loose papers for her to sit down on, _breaking protocol to visit._ "What's up?"

"I just wanted to touch base." Bobby nodded, still a bit confused by her presence. They'd been working from eight this morning until 7pm, just a couple hours ago. What else did they need to touch base about? He offered to make her a coffee and she accepted. He took comfort in the familiar pattern of brewing and pouring. "You got plans for tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Work. Think. Relax." He looked over his shoulder and smiled. _Talk to my partner, I hope._ "You?"

"Same." She paused just long enough for him to interject with an invitation, and when one wasn't forthcoming, she continued. "Thanks," she said as he handed her the coffee. "I just really wanted you to know how pleased the task force and the Prosecutor's office are with your work so far." He shook his head, waving off the praise, and repeated his oft-stated observation about the heavy lifting undertaken by the prep crew. "I know, I know," she agreed, "But it's true. In fact I've been authorized to make you a job offer, although I warned the FBI that it would be a hard sell." She smiled ruefully but with understanding as he shook his head.

"I know," she said again, looking down at the coffee nestled in her cupped hands. "You just want to get back to Eames."

A shock went through him at her words, and when she looked up with a gentle, calculating gaze he knew she'd caught him, but sputtering, he still attempted to backpedal. "Car, uh, of course we just got back like you said, and…"

She held up a hand with a 'don't shit a shitter' shake of her head. "Bobby," she said, and the warmth and understanding that she showed him gave him a reminder of why he'd fallen all those years ago, "It's pretty obvious, the way you look at her, the way you flirt."

He could do nothing but shake his head and cover his face with his hands. He felt the warmth of Carolyn's fingers on his forearm in comfort, but the touch made him uncomfortable and he had to pull away. "Sorry," she sighed.

Bobby felt mortified, and it took him a couple of minutes to face his once-colleague, once-lover. He had been working to regain some of the easy companionship he'd shared with Carolyn when they'd worked together, but he never would have volunteered the secret she just uncovered. He didn't know what to say or how to act.

Luckily Carolyn seemed not to be bothered by the revelation. She easily continued their conversation once he settled down.

"You know Deakins once asked me if the two of you were sleeping together." He looked at her in shock and she laughed. "I said, 'Not in a million years.'. I really thought that, back then Bobby. I actually – thought she was too hard on you. I didn't realise…"

"How hard I was." He didn't mean it in the prurient sense, and she didn't take it that way.

"You were."

"She pushed me a bit, and it actually helped keep me, on an even keel."

"And now?"

"I've kinda learnt to do that for myself, now."

"That's good. Let's you be free to connect with her in different ways."

"Yeah," he conceded with a sigh. "But she…" He let the words hang, shaking his head. When he turned his gaze back to Carolyn she was regarding him neutrally, speculatively. There was no encouragement there, despite her earlier avowal.

"I don't know Bobby, I really don't know how she feels. You'll just have to ask her. Although that could ruin everything." He realized then that despite his ex-lover's recognition and concession of his feelings, she wasn't a cheerleader for romance between her two former colleagues.

"I hear that."

Carolyn chugged the rest of her coffee and stood up. "Anyways, I've delivered all the messages I can muster tonight." He stood and walked her back to 'Frankie's adjoining door. "I was gonna invite myself over again tomorrow, or ask you to join me for a bite, but I think I'll leave that message undelivered, huh?"

He nodded with a sigh. "Thanks Carolyn. Good night."

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alex didn't know which irritated her more… Bobby hinting at how he might be inconvenienced by her entertaining an overnight guest, or the fact that she hadn't had one in years.

Or maybe it was the lie she told.

Whatever the reason, her bad mood motivated Alex to change her plans. Instead of a two-hour Zumba class, then wine and a salmon roll in front of the TV, she decamped Friday after work to spend the weekend with her brother and his family.

She intended to drink, eat barbecue and laugh a lot, but that didn't stop her from bringing Bobby's casefiles and her laptop with her out to Staten Island.

Friday was all about family, food, and games until they all felt sleepy.

Saturday morning she got up early and reviewed the first interview tape.

_Dutson looked uncomfortable in the upscale hotel room. Eames had seen snaps of the mark being worked by agents over the past few months; meetups had taken place at pool halls, strip joints, bars, and the dingy homes of the Dutson's new 'friends'. He was out-of-place here, a little awed._

_One of the undercover agents who'd been working on Dutson pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Mr. Brady? Mr. Dutson's here sir. Yes sir." Eames's lip curled at the pseudonym… why on earth did he insist on using it? She wondered if he'd ever discussed the topic with his therapist. "Dutson, grab a beer. Mr. Brady's on his way."_

"_Will Marsha and Jan be coming too?" The nervous visitor laughed at his own joke as he helped himself to not one, but three bottles. He shambled over to a settee and threw himself heavily onto it. Juvenile, inappropriate… so familiar to Eames, the mien of a petty criminal whose maturity had been stunted early by teen years dominated by drugs and thugs._

The view from the surveillance camera was grainy and static and the heavy, well-hung hotel door out of range, but just from the whisper of air pressure change and hint of his shoe sliding across the thick carpet, Alex knew the instant Bobby had entered.

Suppressing the odd reaction of her body, she took in every detail of his appearance as the 'henchman' who had been babysitting Dutson glided to the side of his 'boss'. Alex's toes curled as she took in the transformation. Following the gesture of one of the attendant undercovers, her partner was moving with a noticeable swagger. She followed the soft but articulated undulation of his lips as he murmured quietly to the henchman who'd greeted him, discussing an unexpected 'opportunity' just loudly enough for Dutson to hear.

"_Tell him that's too quick, Danny, too quick. Who does he think we are?" She smiled at the south Chicago accent as she took in the shrewd, quiet eyes that fell heavy-lidded upon his interlocutor. _

"_Sir, it's just…"_

"_Later, Danny," Bobby said in drawn-out syllables, seating himself opposite the still-reclining Dutson, "Just introduce me to this young man and go figger it out."_

_The dismissed Danny shrugged in frustration and departed, and Alex smiled again. There was not a trace of ham in her partner's performance, it was as note-perfect as could be, and the mark was drinking it in. When Bobby scoffed at the chilled beer and demanded Metaxa (It's a brandy, kiddo, like Remy or Hennessy only better. Ya know what? To the Chinese Mafia Hennessy's like Cristal. Like currency. Their top guys would rather sit and drink it than buy a Rolls, go figger. It's a sign, like, a status symbol. A symbol of their stature.)_

_When he complimented Dutson on his 'work' for the team (I hear good things about you, kiddo. I understand from Dougie that you're the reason the abrupt decline of that syphilis-addled fuck-up we chose to rely on didn't get my boys arrested in Reno.)_

_When Bobby mercurially changed his mood and pushed a little, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his clasped hands, pouting (Y'kno, I'm here doing business. Business, you know what that is kiddo? I'm here for a little while, not exactly kickin back, and my boys thought I should meetcha. I come in, see a guy who's very comfortable in his chair that I paid for, surrounded by booze bought and chilled with my hard work and sweat, aaand, aaand, he's real comfortable. Right? And who the fuck am I, right? I'm just the guy who paysya.)_

_When he listened intently to Dutson's life story, given as an explanation for his bad manners after 'Frankie' pushed Dutson out of his chair to belatedly shake hands with 'Mr Brady' (Well, we all got our row to hoe, right? As my ole mom use to say. I guess maybe you're not the tow-headed boy Frankie made you out to be, and you're not the dickhead you seemed like fifteen minutes ago, maybe you're a somewhere in the middle, huh? A little bit a both. Ya figger?"_

The meeting ended without a word about either the murders or Brady's plans for Dutson. As planned, no doubt… Dutson needed to be eased into accepting Brady and feeling comfortable before they pulled the trigger on the sting.

Eames wondered what the team thought of Bobby? They were thrilled, surely. His manner with Dutson was like something from a Pickup Artist's handbook… compliments, negs, humour. Rubbing in the disparity of their status, then a crumb of almost fatherly solidarity.

But again, on second viewing she still didn't feel a hundred percent easy about the mark. Of course she'd been fooled many times before, surprised by the guilt of people she thought couldn't possibly [insert xyz felony here]. But that man-boy? A grown woman and 3 teenagers? The symmetry and deliberation of all those broken bones, the organization of a body dump, the complete disappearance of the vehicle…

It just didn't seem likely. Possible, but not likely.

_**Thank you so much for reading! Please please review. Even two words would make my day!**_

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**A/N 2:** A special shout-out to _sell_, _Dina_, _Dee_, _jules_, _Carla_ and the many anonymous reviewers who have left such kind, uplifting feedback. Thanks heaps for taking the time to read my story and leave a review!

WORDS: 2072 UPLOADED Sunday, October 6, 2013


	5. THE NEW BOBBY

**A/N 1:** Dee reviewing Chapter 4 said Bobby would have to "…man up and take a risk with Alex." You guys have no idea how he's gonna take that advice to heart in Chapter 9 (give or take a chapter).

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**CHAPTER FIVE: THE NEW BOBBY**

"Eames."

The bar was busy and noisy, despite her sister-in-law's assurances that it was for a more mature crowd, 'not like the typical Jersey Shore places'.

Alex felt sunkissed and unbelievably relaxed. She'd laughed more today than… well, in a very long time. The day had been a bit of a setup, a day at the beach in Jersey that turned out to be a playdate that included the divorced dad of a couple of her nieces' and nephews' friends… but fun nevertheless. Not a love connection, or even a connection really, but fun.

She turned away from her three companions, the adult contingent that remained after they dropped all the kids off at her sister's, and tried her best to hear over the din.

"Detective Eames, sorry to bother you, you sound, erm, busy."

"Oh! No no, it's OK." It was Dr. Rodgers. Alex suddenly felt a bit self-conscious, about her sunburnt shoulders, her three fruity drinks, her playful un-Eames-like sarong, her date.

But wait a second. Why should she feel bad? It was a beautiful day and she was off for once. Her partner was out of town and she was enjoying her free time.

But she was still getting that squirmy feeling, and not in a good way.

"Listen I have to take this," she almost shouted. Her brother faked a pout to match his wife's real one, and the gentleman Charles stood up with her and escorted her outside. Aware that her brother's kids' friend's dad (who several people were pinning all their hopes on, she knew) was lingering close by, she nevertheless shook off the awkward feelings and dove in. "Dr. Rodgers, sorry for that, what's up?"

"Well I looked at the ME's report from Arizona. I thought you were in a hurry for my opinion?"

The self-consciousness returned… would Dr. Rodgers think she was abandoning her partner to revel in some sort of bacchanalia? Would she be irritated to have given up a balmy summer night while Alex herself partied?

"I – really didn't expect you to look at it before Monday, but thank you very much anyway."

"Don't feel bad Detective, I'm on this weekend and decided to look at the files between call-outs. I'm sure you're eager to have your partner back."

Alex glanced up and caught Charles's eye. He was a very _nice_ man. Like Princess Leia, she used to think she liked nice men. Perhaps she still did. But perhaps, her notion of _nice_ had altered somewhat. "Thanks Doctor. I, actually I really would like to know. Can you hang on a sec?" She made a writing gesture, and _nice_ schoolteacher Charles quickly stepped over and produced a pen and a few pages from a real estate agent's advertising pad. _Thank you_, she mouthed.

"OK, I'm good to go. Do you agree with the original conclusion?"

"That all four were beaten with a thick cylinder, possibly a baseball bat, and left to die? Yes."

The Detective in her was deflated by the news, but then this wasn't a puzzle to solve… the more conclusions they agreed on the better for the outcome. "Okay…" Alex would have bet her favourite boots that Rodgers was sitting on something else.

She inhaled the chaotic Jersey Shore summer air and held her breath. Although the sky was clear there was not a single star visible… unlike Colorado City she was sure. A warm sea breeze lifted her skirt and her hair, and she longed suddenly to know what Bobby was doing, thinking, feeling. An unproductive train of thought, but for once she couldn't shake it. "Thank you for that, Doctor. You got anything else for me?"

"Well the original investigation concluded that the victims were driven to the desert, forced by a single perp to lay supine on the ground, beaten one at a time, then dragged by their hands to the dump site, which would account for the torn ligaments in the wrists of all four."

"Yup," Alex replied, conscious of the proximity of the helpful Charles.

"I don't think that's how it happened. I think their arms were broken while someone held them in place by their hands through the vehicle's windows."

Alex's stomach lurched and dropped into her sparkly platform sandals. "What makes you think so?" She readied her pen.

"There were clear grooved indentations on the arms of each of the vics, and blunt force trauma exactly opposite. Grooves consistent with marks the gaps from window apertures would make. Only the left wrists of the mother and youngest daughter have ligament damage, the right wrists of the oldest and middle daughters. The facial and cranial fractures of the mother and oldest daughter are consistent with being beaten through a car window."

Alex spoke as little as possible as Dr. Rodgers continued to flesh out her observations.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Eames?"

After Carolyn left, Bobby put away their mugs and went back to the casefiles.

He felt hamstrung. The joint taskforce was deeply committed to Dutson as the doer, and they'd dedicated a huge amount of resources to setting up the sting.

Yet he had qualms, and lacked the means to assuage them. Not for the first time, he wished Eames was here to bounce ideas off of… he had a feeling she felt the same concerns as he did about the case.

He wished Eames was here for a lot of reasons.

Then his phone rang.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Bobby?"

Alex ignored the confusion on the nice teacher's face when she told him she urgently needed to make a private phone call. She pulled the casefile out of her computer bag which was stowed in her trunk, and spread the contents out on the hood, weighed down by her shoes, makeup bag and one corner of her purse. Her brother came out and approached her hesitantly, but backed off when she waved him away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Charles taking him in hand.

Hearing her partner's voice on the other end of the line made her wrists ache with energy just as when she'd found the envelope he left for her.

Everything was better with Bobby, she realised, trying to fill her lungs with the salty, smoggy, fecund air while something squeezed at her chest. Looking up, even though the streetlights and traffic looked brighter, she saw the glimmer of a star in the sky. Listening to him shuffle papers and babble, her ears perked to distant conversations she'd blocked out before. The prick of the tarmac felt warm and familiar on her bare feet, and the slip of files and photos through her fingers reminded her almost sensually of where she felt most at home.

Yoked to the sexy beast on the other end of the phone.

"Where are you?" She smiled at the question. Even two years ago, he wouldn't have asked. What had changed? She was suddenly aware of her toes curling with pleasure at _something_… she carefully straightened them, feeling the gentle scrape of the ground beneath her feet.

"Outside a bar on Ocean Avenue, in Jersey."

"Sounds, sounds busy." She heard him scratch his chin… not a full day worth of whiskers, by the sound of it. Did that mean…? Her stomach dropped. She didn't want to know.

"It is. Listen, I just got a call from Dr. Rodgers, about the case."

"Which case?"

"Yours."

"You talked to Rodgers about my case?"

"I – Should I not have? Sorry…"

"No it's fine, I'm – glad you did. That's good, good. What did she say?"

While she repeated her conversation with the ME, Alex tried not to imagine her partner. He wasn't sitting freshly-shaven at a table scattered with files, impeccably dressed with his forearms resting parallel on the flat surface in a way that made him look so balanced and secure. He wasn't staring at Carolyn as she sipped a beer. In his bed.

Alex stared at the tableau of her family and would-be date, shifting their feet about fifty feet away, chatting and trying not to pay too much attention to her. She almost called out to them to leave without her, to forgive her for truncating their evening, for being un-charmed by their offering.

She unwillingly hung on every word of her partner's interjections, letting herself admit that she missed him. She almost said so, but caught herself in time.

"Eames?"

"Yeah, Bobby."

"So the mother was driving, with her oldest daughter in the front passenger seat. The other two were in the back. They were all beaten in the car, at least at first. The two oldest were subdued with head trauma before all four were removed from the vehicle."

"A choreographed attack."

"That would have been almost impossible with a single perp."

Bobby ruefully thanked her for the information and she felt for him. Funny that. What he was about to do to Carolyn was very close to what he did to her with Joe's murder during the Quinn case. She wanted to tell him how much she respected and admired him. For his courage, his integrity, his self-discipline. Always willing to do the right thing no matter how hard it was, how difficult it might make things for him with the people he cared about.

But she chickened out, kind of. There was something else he needed to hear. Something she'd been thinking of off and on for a while, but which had weirdly coalesced for her in an urgent need to right something between them. "Bobby, I owe you an apology."

"What?"

"For Manny Delgado. I'm sorry I – acted the way I did when you looked into Joe's death. You were right, and you went about it the right way. I should have trusted you. I _do_ trust you."

He was quiet for a long time. She could hear his breathing… its similarity to the way kids breathed into the phone brought a smile to her face. "Alex…"

She resisted the urge to fill the quiet with platitudes.

"…You – you don't need to apologise. I hope, I'm better now at managing the rough patches in our, erm, relationship. I understand, how much it hurt."

"It did, but then it healed. Really healed. In a way I'd never been able to before." She almost blushed at the awkward, unexpected revelation. She heard Bobby expel a heavy breath on the other end of the line. "And you are. Better. Thank you for that." She barely got the last words out; something about what he said, understanding how it hurt, working on being better with her in their relationship, made her choke up a bit.

"I gotta go Bobby," she got out without too much wobbling. "My um, brother and his wife are waiting for me."

"And your date?" He asked perspicaciously.

"Yeah, kind of," she muttered.

"Could, um… if you're not busy later, could we talk some more?"

The achy wrists returned, and now the muscles of her forearms quickened as she held the phone to her ear. "Sure." There was no way she was gonna miss that call.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Almost two hours went by. Bobby kept himself busy by looking at the X-rays, the crime scene photos, the statement by the Colorado City ME. Looking for confirmation, looking for holes. His conclusions relieved his conscience but agitated his mind.

Something else was agitating him. Eames, at the Jersey Shore. Wearing something soft and clingy. Tipsy and husky-voiced from booze. Sunkissed, probably. Kissed, pr –

_Probably not_, he told himself. She wouldn't have answered Rodgers's call.

Which cheered him up, in a slightly sadistic way. Sunkist Eames, laughing and splashing at the beach, cover-up slipping here and there, drawing stares but not staring back, thinking about his case… maybe about _him_, that he could handle.

Then the phone rang. Reaching for the instrument with a start, he realised he was hard. _Alex_, he breathed into the phone. He heard a tiny gasp in response.

"Bobby it's late," she groused, "I'm sooo tired."

"Did you have fun?" He asked, ignoring her grousing.

"Yeah," she said, and the hints of pleasure in her voice made him happy. He prodded her for a recap of her day, laughed when she described the call with Rodgers and her seconding of the car hood for a situation room, and tried not to let his feelings show in his voice when she told him about the company.

"What were you wearing," he growled more insistently than he intended.

His partner predictably huffed, but he eventually teased it out of her.

The image made him need to stretch out. He unfolded his big body onto the settee, not caring that he was too big to fit. He fisted his hands to keep them off his body.

But his partner's mind was still on the case, and as always, no matter where he drifted, she dragged him back.

"Bobby… Rodgers said a thick cylinder like a baseball bat." _Like_.

"I know." The affirmation that his partner was on the same page as him was both comforting and disturbing.

"Did they go over the family's vehicles with a fine-tooth comb?"

He didn't need his notes to answer. "There was a minivan registered to the Bishop, but it was uninsured. Most people in the community walk from place to place."

She sighed. "It's an awful possibility, but… it would have been much easier for a cop to get a car full of women to drive out to the desert. Although I guess Dutson could have carjacked them…"

It was a possibility, but Bobby thought it was unlikely.

"But what vehicle? If the family car was uninsured?"

"You know, in polygamous communities that have law enforcement in their pockets, some of the men purposely keep their vehicles without insurance so the cops have an excuse to pull over women trying to escape."

Alex gasped and muttered about the monstrous acts necessary to keep a whole community of women and children enslaved, then said she'd do her best to track down the old minivan the family was using at the time of the murders.

Their conversation dwindled, and Bobby tried to think of reasons to keep her on the phone, but the urgency of his body's needs were too distracting, and although he wanted badly to hear her voice – or even her breath – as he found his release, he couldn't use her that way without her consent. So when she somewhat wistfully bade him good night, he sighed and reciprocated, reaching for his belt buckle even as he hit _end_.

_**You've done me a great honour by reading my story! Please do me one more thing? Move your mouse a few inches doooown, click in the little box and tell me what you thought? It would mean so so much to me.**_

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**A/N 2:** Thank you to Dina, Carla, Dee, sell and the other anonymous reviewers who I can't thank by PM.

WORDS: 2540 UPLOADED Saturday, October 12, 2013


	6. KEEP SWEET

**A/N 1:** Thanks for all the lovely feedback. Just to let you know, if I can fit one new scene in without making a new chapter, it'll be Chapter 8, not 9 when you'll see Bobby make his big move.

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**CHAPTER SIX: KEEP SWEET**

"Mrs. Blackmore, I'm Alexandra Eames, the detective who called. Is now a good time to talk?"

**o.o.o.o.o**

Still dressed for the beach and with a task to accomplish, Alex lingered on her couch after she hung up with Bobby.

_Alex_ he'd called her, several times. Remembering the timbre of his voice stirred her in a way that made it difficult to focus. He'd spoken to her like a lover actually, like someone her call had aroused from a daydream about her. And there were moments when she felt almost like a lover in response.

And she knew, _knew_, that there was nothing of Carolyn in that room with him. If there ever had been.

_Why_ had he asked her what she was wearing? About her evening? And why did she so relish telling him? The warmth of his laughter made her toes curl, and she noticed when his voice hitched as he inquired about her date.

When had their relationship begin changing, and what did it mean? All she knew was that – while she couldn't answer any of those questions – though they were separated by thousands of miles and several time zones, there was something about her relationship with her partner right now felt intoxicating and filled with promise.

Biting back a slight twinge of guilt about the hour, she called Agent Coffey and asked him if there was any way he'd be able to trace the provenance of an ancient Arizona-registered minivan by Sunday morning. A short half-hour after his groggy but affirmative murmur, he called her back with a message to check her email.

"You amaze me Agent Coffey," she muttered, sipping a four-shot wet cappuccino she'd made with her little home espresso machine.

"Well maybe you just inspire greatness, Detective Eames," he replied. "I'd like to meet you sometime, if that's OK," he added. "You and your partner."

"Sure why not," she said. "Thanks again."

"Any time." There was an awkward pause at Coffey's end. "Well uh, I'll leave you to your sleuthing, Detective," he said.

Alex was tempted to return to her previous ruminations about Bobby… the image of him, a few hours past his evening shave, in rolled-up shirtsleeves stretched out on a hotel room loveseat with the phone in his hand was firmly settled in her mind's eye, and she'd given up on banishing it. But she owed it to Bobby to focus on the case, so she'd do her best to keep busy with the casefile until Coffey called back.

The news when it came was not only quick, but very very good. While waiting for Coffey to call she had formulated a plan, hoping for the best. Now that she had it, all that remained was to make the calls. The airport and Captain Hannah tonight… Carolyn and Mrs. Blackmore could wait until she arrived in Salt Lake City.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"It's Jacobs now, Detective Eames. I've adopted the surname of my great-great-great-great-great-grandmother from when she arrived in America from the Netherlands. Please come in."

"Thanks." The woman, perhaps fifty something years old, gestured towards the noisy living room of her house, situated in a cul-de-sac in a newish Salt Lake City subdivision.

Alex had slept on the plane, then called the Bishop's youngest sister – a former FLDS member now rescuing and sheltering refugees from the cult – as soon as she arrived. The house was packed, with children, several young, suspicious women including one who was heavily pregnant, and a couple of older ladies. Holding pride of place above the fireplace mantel was a cross-stitched sampler with the FLDS admonition to women and children – _Keep Sweet_ – emblazoned with a red barred circle over top.

"You're wondering about the minivan?"

"Yes. I understand your son tried to get it insured nineteen years ago, and there was some problem with the title? How did the vehicle come to you?"

Rosie Jacobs was a carefully made-up woman with coiffed, faded blonde hair, tight skin and fierce blue eyes. At the question she pursed her lips a bit and looked down.

"It was left in my driveway twenty years ago."

"Twenty? Do you remember the date?"

"It was on my birthday. November twelfth, nineteen ninety-three."

A year and a month after the four women had died in the Arizona desert. "Your birthday? Did you think there was any significance to it?"

"Significance? Well, I didn't know until you called, but I always suspected that it was my brother. I was his youngest sister, his favourite. He never… lost hope."

"That you might return? Did you think he expected you to drive the van back to Colorado City?"

"I don't know what my brother thought."

Interrupted by the joyful noise of the children playing, plus the occasional shy but determined question from their young mothers, Rosie Jacobs explained how the van had sat in the garage over the winter of '93 into the spring of 1994, and then when her son needed a vehicle to drive to college, he took it to the DMV.

"I guess I didn't understand about titles… I had only been out a couple of years. We were allowed to keep it because it hadn't been reported stolen."

Alex had a knot in her stomach. "And do you still have the vehicle?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, I still keep it in the garage. You can see it if you like." She stood and Alex followed.

"And you haven't ever driven it?" She looked at the shabby old Plymouth, filthy outside and in, with a jerry-rigged rumble seat and two car seats, one for a baby and one for an older child. A counterfeit insurance sticker was in evidence as well.

Mrs. Jacobs's face turned hard. "Oh, we've driven it."

**o.o.o.o.o**

After shimmying under the vehicle with a flashlight to confirm the VIN number, she followed her hostess back to the house for a much more difficult conversation.

Oh god, that car. She'd found the car. It looked like it had never been washed, and if it was used only for rescue missions it wouldn't have been used that much. In the garage all this time, dry climate, there might still be DNA somewhere if it was the murder scene.

She wanted to call Bobby, but she knew she couldn't. This was a job she had to handle herself, asking Bobby to do it would just be too hard.

"Mrs. Jacobs, I need to ask you something. Did you ever know your sister-in-law Annette?"

"Which one?"

_**Please review! Your words give my fingers wings.**_

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**A/N 2:** Short chapter, but at least it's up quick.

WORDS: 1140 UPLOADED Sunday, October 13, 2013


	7. SCRUPLES

**A/N 1:** A bit of a longer wait, but a nice long chapter. I am very proud of this one.

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**CHAPTER SEVEN: SCRUPLES**

_"Careful Goren."_

Sunday morning there was a different voice in his ear. Carolyn had disappeared without explanation from their briefing meeting earlier and never returned. A little while later Jude Matthieu, an agent he hadn't met before, showed up and said he'd be at the other end of the earpiece. It didn't bother Bobby as much as it should have.

"Dutson, you're tense. I don't like tense people. Relax."

So he'd gone in with a new handler, for the most critical of his contacts with the mark.

Careful? It was good advice. Looking at the reedy, needy, desperate-to-please Leroy Dutson, tense didn't begin to cover it. Bobby almost expected the man to pee himself, he was so terrified and anxious to say and do the right things in the presence of his betters.

Careful? Matthieu was smart. Must have seen something of Bobby's inhibition… truthfully, he was toying with the idea of blowing the interview, he was that sure Dutson hadn't done it. The FBI would hate him with the wrath of a thousand Khans, but what else was new? As Dutson gushed and groveled, Bobby thought of how he could render the interview inadmissible without appearing too obvious.

"Ever hear of _Scruples_, Dutson? My daughter likes to play it. She thinks it's funny."

The disadvantaged, almost feral Dutson squished his face into an unlikely shape trying to convey deep thought. Bobby felt a little sick to his stomach.

"I don't think so, Mr. um, Brady."

Unlike some countries, the Supreme Court had established strict rules about what types of pressure US law enforcement could bring to bear against the subjects of American Mr. Big stings. If Bobby threatened the suspect, asked him about a specific crime or offered him an inducement to confess, the whole operation would be out the window.

"It's a card game where you play pairs, like Bridge." Bobby ignored Dutson's look of confusion. "You win by answering hypothetical moral questions the same as you think other people will." Bobby knew even before the muttering in his earpiece that he was speaking out of character, but he didn't think Dutson would notice.

"I, um, that sounds inter, interesting Mr…."

Bobby continued as if Dutson hadn't spoken. "The problem is, if you win you're only showing that you know how people think of themselves, not how they really are. Ya know?"

Dutson nodded as if he did.

"Cuz, you can never judge a man on what he tells you he'll do." Bobby wagged a finger. "Only on what he's done."

Bobby leaned back and sipped the warmed spiced brandy his character was supposed to like. "Leroy, what kind of a man are you?"

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Carolyn?" The call came in early in the morning, while the team was offsite prepping for Mr. Big's final meeting with the mark. Everyone was over the moon with the New York Detective's performance, congratulating Carolyn on bringing him in. She herself had been increasingly uneasy at Bobby's misgivings with the sting. She even called upon the complicated Deity of her childhood to reveal something decisive in today's interview, so that she could either rest her conscience, confident they had the right man, or pull the plug without too many second thoughts.

"Uh… yeah, hang on a sec."

Carolyn stood up and excused herself from the meeting before addressing Alex by name. Funny, she'd just been sitting there staring at Bobby's soft, strong hands when his crush rang her up out of the blue.

Her sinking feeling that this call would be nothing good was soon confirmed as Alex briefly and efficiently explained the reason for her call.

"You just went off on your own to interview a family member _ex officio_?" Carolyn tried and failed to not be irritated by the presumption, the intrusion, the _loyalty_ and _solidarity_ evident in the act. "Did Bobby ask you to?"

"I told him I'd try to track down the vehicle, he didn't ask me to do anything. Carolyn, I think you know why it had to be done this way."

Carolyn sat down at the chair behind the reception desk at the fake massage parlour they were using and calmly surveyed her options. When Alex started to speak she shushed her.

If it was the car that had belonged to the Bishop they had to do forensics.

If she went up the chain to requisition the team and resources, the shit would hit the fan.

If the local LE _had_ been involved all those years ago and got wind of the examination of the vehicle in Salt Lake, it could even be worse.

"We have no evidence that the violence took place in the minivan."

"Carolyn, according to Dr. Rodgers we do."

Dr. Rodgers? Better and better…

Alex explained the ME's theory about how the mother and daughters' arms were broken.

One of Carolyn's many misgivings about this sting was the information contamination… it was clear to her from interview transcripts that Dutson had been privy to certain details of the working theory, passed on inadvertently or maybe intentionally by investigators. If the evidence was now saying something completely different…

"Carolyn, it's none of my business, but haven't you wondered why the locals were so eager all of a sudden to put this one to bed?"

She had. And Bobby had mentioned to her his concerns… that the upcoming scrutiny involving the cult's mistreatment of women and children might be a reason to hide evidence of collusion between the cult and local law enforcement. A reason to frame an easy mark and get a suspicious cold case off the books.

"OK. Listen, I'm gonna head to Salt Lake City myself with a forensics team. We'll get there as quick as we can, can you stay with the vehicle until we arrive? What about the woman, Blackmore? Will she need babysitting?

"Jacobs. She's circumspect and cooperative, shouldn't be a problem. I can stay, although I'm expected at work tomorrow morning."

"We'll be as quick as we can."

Carolyn's call to Agent Coffey was briefer, and he sounded inordinately jolly at the prospect of meeting Detective Eames.

**O.O.O.O.O**

"Mr. Brady, I assure you I am the kind of man you can, um, count upon when times are tough…"

"_Christ, where'd he get that – off a Hallmark card?"_

Bobby sniffed in distaste, not at Dutson's flowery declaration but rather at the importune comment through his earpiece. Dutson heard it and floundered.

"Leroy. Would you want to know me if you could?"

Dutson mumbled in the affirmative.

"Because I could give you a flattering, _Match Game_ hilite reel. I could give you my sheet, my bucket list, or what my obituary will say. And we'd be here all day and you wouldn't really know much. Right?"

"Yes sir."

"But to really know me, you actually only need to know one thing about me." Bobby paused. "So yes or no?"

"Yes please sir.

"When I was sixteen years old, I killed my sister. She was fourteen, and pregnant with our father's child." Bobby paused and watched Dutson stare at him, slack-jawed. The two agents working undercover with Bobby were both numb and still, and Bobby could hear Matthieu's deep breathing through his earpiece.

"I shoulda killed my father. And I did, a few years later. I shoulda killed my father instead of her." He began to nod and Dutson nodded brainlessly with him. "I mean, my sister was no angel. Fourteen, that's old enough to push a man off you, ya know? Am I right?" Dutson opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "But her unborn child, that was an innocent life."

Dutson's face was ashen, his face contorting to try to hide the expressions of horror and disgust that were boiling over in the tumult of 'Mr. Brady' and his revelations. Finally, Leroy Dutson was hearing things that he understood.

"So did I do right? To kill my sister? Punish the child for the sins of the parent?"

Leroy spoke softly, like he was short of breath. "Whatever you, um, say I mean Mr. Brady whatever you did I'm sure it was, um…"

Bobby waved at him awkwardly as he hoisted himself out of his chair. "Save it, kid. This is waaaay outside your pay grade, I can see from your face. Frankie'll give you a couple grand for your time, stick to what ya been doin'."

"_Don't let him leave!"_ Bobby ignored the command and began shuffling towards the door. He knew what he was doing. It was too late anyway, for what Matthieu and Carolyn wanted… Leroy was not the killer, he was now absolutely certain. And Bobby had figured out a way to prove it without blowing the sting.

"Wait! Mr., Mr. Brady, I want you to, um, by the way thank you for what you said, I want you to know what kind of man I am."

As Frankie held the door for him, Bobby slowly turned and regarded the trembling man. Matthieu on the other end of the earpiece held his breath.

And it all came out in a slick, messy jumble. Like how Alex had described Nathan finally popping. The two agents in the room with him leaned forward, hanging on every word. Bobby stood leaning against the door with increasing misgivings, knowing how difficult it would be to let the team down with the truth after what would seem like a home run.

"_Ask him about the murder weapon."_ Bobby took this opportunity to stop ignoring his handler.

"What did you use?"

"A baseball bat," Dutson said with a wide-eyed nod.

"Ya just beat them while they were…" Bobby stilled his body and hands, careful not to lead the erstwhile suspect with even a gesture.

"Laying on the ground. Yeah." Dutson was trembling and it showed through in his voice. But it wasn't a confession. It was a wide-eyed stiff-jawed fib as if he were a ten-year-old who broke a window playing baseball.

"Til they were dead?"

"Yeah."

"How did ya know? Did ya check?"

"Yeah, um, no, I didn't actually _know_ they were dead."

"What if they woke up? Found help?"

"I, um, d-did their arms and legs so they couldn't move. I made sure to do that."

"…After…?"

"After I beat them, yeah."

"Ya just, went from one to the other to the next, breaking their arms and legs, just like that? When they were…" Bobby acted fascinated, as if captivated by the details of the story Dutson was making up.

"Laying on the ground, yeah, just like that."

"For revenge?"

"Um, yeah. So Mr. Brady, I um, I get where you're…"

"And the cops tried to finger you, but…"

"They didn't got no evidence." Dutson tried to smile, the grotesque expression making Bobby's mouth water with nausea. There was no evidence because the perps never looked for any, he wanted to say.

"They could never make it stick. Did he know ya did it? The dad?"

"Uh, I think so yeah, I think he knew who done it."

**o.o.o.o.o**

Dutson was allowed to leave with a handler and two tight tails, and although the Special Prosecutor had yet to review the tapes to establish whether they had enough for an arrest, Bobby was treated to a round of cheers from the high-fiving team celebrating and complimenting him on his work.

"Agent Newman, do you have a twenty on Barek?" Every congratulatory pat was making Bobby feel more out of sorts, but it wasn't his place to give the team the very bad news.

"She had to step away Detective, she said she'd be a few hours at least. Did you try texting her?"

"A few hours?" Bobby bleated. He hadn't tried texting her, but he pulled out both his FBI-issued and burner cells. There was a text from Eames on the latter.

"Congratulations by the way, Detective. That was amazing."

Bobby nodded to the agent. "Newman, I have a couple of calls to make."

"Uhhh… I think we're doing a post-op evaluation, Detective…" But Bobby was already walking away.

**o.o.o.o.o**

"Bobby?"

She sounded breathless, and the sound of her voice caught his own breath in his throat. He had barely slept the night before, not from anxiety but because he'd been so keyed up from speaking to her. It felt like ages ago.

"Where are you?" There was the sound of children in the background. Her sister's house maybe? Probably not with that guy then. Maybe.

"Bobby, um…" He loved the wistful timbre her voice sometimes had. Even when she was being stern and fierce, there was a soft, yielding quality that drew him in. "I'm in Salt Lake City. Carolyn's on her way, with a forensics team. We found the minivan."

She found the minivan. "You found it? How? When? How long have you been in Salt Lake?"

She laughed, and the sound made him absurdly giddy, and a little aroused. His partner was in Salt Lake City, on a Sunday before a work day, after a night on the town with some guy and her family, making his case for him. In Salt Lake City.

"Um. Last night, I got Coffey to check DMV and we got a break, and I've been here since sunup."

All of a sudden Bobby was feeling very, very good. He looked up at the clouds scudding across the sky and smiled. "Alex," he said, letting the word caress his lips.

She drew a quick breath and held it. "Bobby?" She said questioningly after a few long seconds.

"I'm… amazed. You're amazing." The smile on his face came through in his words.

She rewarded him with another wistful laugh. "What? Chasing a lead? That sounds kinda like me, doncha think?"

"I think you just want me back at my desk."

There was silence on the line, then his partner began speaking, but stopped herself. "Of course," she said lightly.

"_Alex_," he breathed again. He could picture her, head slightly bent, pacing back and forth on the smooth pavement in front of the house where she'd found the minivan. He imagined that the weather was maybe like here in Arizona, a stiff breeze lifting her hair in a soft, supple curtain around her beautiful face. Tiny and strong and brave, jumping into the fray and to his aid.

Bobby suddenly recalled the conversation he'd had with Dutson. _Scruples_, the game you won by knowing how people saw themselves_._ He was an expert on Eames, the woman he'd worked with for thirteen years. Had he been trying to reach the woman he loved by flirting with his partner?

Maybe all he had to do was figure out how to let _Alex_ know how he felt without getting tripped up by the _Eames_ she was used to being with him.

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~.~.~.~.~

WORDS: 2520 UPLOADED Saturday, October 19, 2013


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